


Tacos and Tequila

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Series: Tacos and Tequila [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Roommates, Snowstorms, They get stuck in an apartment together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: Betty drives almost four hours in a snowstorm to visit her best friend, Archie Andrews, at college, only to arrive and find out that Archie isn't home, won't be returning, and hadn't even told his roommate she was coming. Snowed in and less than happy about it, Betty might come to learn that 48 hours trapped with Jughead Jones won't be that bad after all.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> College AU because I have a mighty need. That's pretty much all.

**Before**

Betty is out of breath by the time she makes it to the top of the staircase, dragging her uncooperative suitcase behind her – it had gotten stuck on every obstacle possible, flipping over more than once and nipping at the backs of her heels the rest of the time. She’d stood outside the student apartment building for a good ten minutes before someone had come by to let her in, her persistent pressing of Archie’s buzzer going entirely unanswered.

“Oh, hey, hold the door please!” she’d yelled, hurrying to catch it before it swung shut on her once again. She’d stepped away in the hopes of reaching Archie on his cell phone instead, but had once again had no luck. The disinterested student barely stopped to slide his hand across the glass, pinning it open for a fraction of a second longer, Betty managing to catch the heavy weight with the tips of her frostbitten fingers. “Thanks,” she had huffed under her breath, sarcasm laced heavily in her tone.

To add to her plight the elevator had had a bright white sign slapped across it that read ‘out of order’, forcing her to take the stairs. Betty wasn’t unfit by any means, but right now she was tired, drained even, and wanted nothing more than to get inside her best friend’s room and just collapse on the nearest soft surface.

It wasn’t exactly how she’d wanted to arrive either. Bags beneath her eyes, drenched from standing in the flurry of snow that had started to come down mid-drive. The same snow that had already set her nerves on edge as she felt the road slicken beneath her tires. She pauses, trying to catch her breath and swipe some of the hair stuck to her damp skin away, before continuing down the hallway in search of Archie’s room, hoping the flush in her cheeks would fade by the time she found it.

The numbers 403 flash before her eyes and she knocks, fingers of her free hand fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater while she waits.

The door swings open and the first thing Betty thinks is _naked_.

Her eyes widen comically as she is met with an expanse of skin, wet and glistening slightly under the fluorescent lighting above. She rakes her gaze over the hard planes of the stranger’s chest before she can stop herself, noting the subtle ridges of abs – not nearly as defined as the ones she was used to catching glimpses of out of her bedroom window, but definitely still _there_ – and a smattering of dark hair trailing down below a soft, white towel…

Her head snaps up, all efforts to rid her cheeks of their previous flush now in vein as she swallows nervously. The stranger is staring back at her, face unnervingly guarded. Betty clears her throat, holding her chin a fraction higher in an attempt to seem more put together than she is feeling. The stranger runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing back the long, ebony curls from in front of steady blue eyes. _He has really long eyelashes,_ Betty thinks distractedly, before scrambling to pull her mind back from the diversion it had decided to take.

“Um, hi. I’m looking for Archie Andrews? I’m…”

“Betty Cooper.” Betty’s head bounces back in surprise at the sound of her name on his lips, snapping her mouth closed instantly. The corner of his own mouth tilts upwards minutely into an upper-handed smirk. “The blonde from the pictures,” he says by way of explanation, gesturing vaguely behind him.

Betty can’t stop the warmth that spreads throughout her chest at this statement; the knowledge that Archie had pictures up of her in his college room, had told people her name, settles comfortably in her stomach. The vague recollection of a name in a phone call pokes around the edges of her memory.

“And you’re… Jughead?” she asks warily, the nickname feeling foreign on her tongue.

“The one and only,” Jughead replies. There is a beat of silence as neither make a move to continue the conversation.

“Forgive my asking, but what exactly are you doing here?” Jughead finally questions, tilting his head inquisitively. The warmth in Betty’s chest turns to ice. His eyes feel intrusive as they stare back at her, making her want to curl in on herself until she becomes invisible.

“I… Archie didn’t say anything?” she mumbles, willing the prickle in the corner of her eyes not to turn to tears. Jughead shakes his head slightly. Betty nods, fingernails slipping from the hem of her sweater to the soft skin of her palm, poised just above the flesh. _He’s just busy, it’s first semester after all,_ a reassuring voice tries to tell her. “I’m visiting for the weekend,” she tells Jughead, plastering an overly bright smile on her face. Jughead’s expression falters at her words.

“Archie isn’t here,” he says slowly, eyes taking on a certain wariness as he watches a range of emotions flit across Betty’s features. “He took off with some girl a few days ago and hasn’t come back yet.”

 _Some girl_. There was always some girl, Betty thinks dejectedly, but that girl was never her. Embarrassment strikes white hot down her spine, glazing her eyes over as her nails pierce the skin of her palms. “Oh,” she whispers, unable to make her voice come out any louder.

“Do you want to hit me?” The unusual question snaps Betty out of her sudden spiral. Her brow furrows delicately and it’s her turn to regard him warily.

“Excuse me?”

His eyes lower pointedly to her clenched fists. She follows his gaze, immediately flexing her fingers. “Because, hey, I’d understand.” Betty shuts her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly out of her nose before looking back at the boy in the doorway.

“No, I don’t want to hit you,” she says in a more even tone, hints of amusement creeping in around the edges. He smiles at that, and Betty can’t help but note that the simple action softens his whole demeanour. A lump catches in her throat. “I just… I drove three and a half hours to see my best friend, who I haven’t seen in months, and he isn’t even here. And it’s snowing, and I nearly crashed on the way over here because some drivers are _assholes_ , and students are assholes, and so are professors for that matter; did you know that one of mine sprung a surprise paper on us the other day and I had to complete it early before leaving to come here? Only to find out, as I’ve said before, Archie isn’t here and didn’t tell his roommate I was even coming,” she exhales, feeling her body lighten with every word that passes her lips, sagging against the handle of her suitcase.

Jughead’s eyes have crinkled around the corners as he regards her with mild enjoyment, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. He looks as if he’s about to say something before changing his mind and pulling his lower lip between his teeth.

“What?” Betty asks with a sigh, sensing his hesitation. She doesn’t even care that she’s just unloaded her every frustration on this unsuspecting man, clad only in his towel, in the doorway of his college residence.

“You blink when you say the word ‘asshole’,” he tells her, that devilish smirk slipping back onto his face. Betty looks at him indignantly.

“No, I don’t,” she retorts before even figuring out why she feels she should be offended by his accusation. “I’m perfectly capable of saying ‘asshole’ without blinking.”

“You blinked again.” She purses her lips together because _damn it, he’s right._ She did blink. She supposes it was many years of Alice Cooper telling her that ladies didn’t use such foul language. She scoffed internally – she’s certainly heard her mother using more than a few choice words during the less than quiet arguments she had with Betty’s father, Hal.

There’s that silence again as both of them continue to stare, neither moving as Betty rocks back on her heels. Eventually, she sighs, ready to admit defeat.

“Well, I better be going; long drive back,” she murmurs as she grips the handle of her suitcase more firmly and turns to head back towards the stairs. Jughead stares at her retreating figure before his manners suddenly kick in.

“Oh, man. Shit–  Betty! Wait, you can’t drive all the way back now,” Jughead calls after her, starting to step out into the hallway, one hand clutching at the knot in his towel. She turns to face him, teeth chewing on the plush skin of her lower lip. He flushes, looking up and down the corridor before stepping out towards her.

“I don’t mean to be an _asshole_ ,” he begins, pointedly exaggerating the curse while he looks at her unblinkingly, garnering a laugh. “But you look exhausted, and the weather is hell. You shouldn’t be out driving. Just… come inside for a while, okay?” he asks, ducking his head to meet her eyes better. The stray fly-aways framing her face are dampened with melting snowflakes. Betty looks up at him from beneath her lashes, debating his request. In all actuality there’s no real debate. She _is_ exhausted and the thought of rolling her tires over the absolute death trap once called roads outside sets her teeth on edge. She sighs again, nodding quickly before following him back towards the room.


	2. Hour 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter, I hope you enjoy!

**Hour 1**

Betty glances around her new surroundings as Jughead shuts the door behind her. Along with his scholarship, Archie has been offered lodging in some of the slightly more upscale apartments Boston had to offer its students, as part of the terms of his enrolment. She’s currently standing in a small lounge/kitchenette area, decked out with only the essentials: there’s a cream coloured carpet (that looks like it’s seen better days) that gives way into white tiles on the floor; a green sofa and armchair are pushed in the corner, surrounding a varnished coffee table and TV stand, two lamps adorning either end of the room. The kitchen has very little in the way of appliances, all white cupboards and grey counter tops, and there are dirty dishes piled up that are beginning to edge closer to the wrong side of disgusting. She wrinkles her nose discreetly, not sure why she’d expected anything less from two college boys. There are two doors on the wall opposite her, which she’s assuming lead to Archie and Jughead’s rooms, and one on the wall to her left which she can see, from how it’s been left ajar, is the bathroom.

Jughead stands a few feet away, observing her as she observes the room.

“What did you get your scholarship for?” Betty blurts out. She instantly berates herself for saying the first thing that had popped into her head. He didn’t have to be on a scholarship, she thinks, averting her eyes and willing herself not to smack her palm to her forehead, he could just be loaded. To her relief, Jughead replies quickly.

“Writing. I’m studying Journalism with a minor in Creative Writing,” he tells her with a depreciating smile she can tell he must always wear when talking about himself and his accomplishments.

“Me too!” she exclaims, eyes brightening a shade before she coughs delicately, reigning in her excitement. “I mean, without the minor. I want to be a journalist one day though – I was editor of The Blue and Gold in high school. That was our paper,” she adds, realising he wouldn’t know what she was babbling about. Jughead smiles, dimples appearing adorably on his cheeks and Betty can’t help but return it.

A khaki jacket catches her eye, strewn over the arm of the sofa.

“How do you like living with Archie?” she asks, her mind drifting back to the noticeable absence of their shared acquaintance. Jughead lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck and Betty watched the way it makes his bicep curl.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Jughead replies vaguely, and the betraying smile spreads across Betty’s lips before she can stop it. “I think if we’d met as kids we could have been close friends, but we’ve kind of gone too far in different directions to ever be ‘brothers’,” Jughead concludes, throwing quotes around the word with his fingers. Betty nods. She can understand the sentiment.

Betty’s eyes follow a stray drip of water that slides between Jughead’s pecs and he marks the appraisal, looking down at himself as if he’s only just remembering he is less than decently clothed, for the first time since they met.

“I’m just gonna…” he trails off, pointing with a thumb to the right hand door on the wall behind him. “Make yourself comfortable,” he throws over his shoulder as he slips into his room.

Betty sinks into the worn couch cushions with a huff, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread she finds there. _How typical_ , she thinks to herself. There’s a buzzing in her back pocket that causes her hunched shoulders to straighten, the ID on her screen reading _Archie_ alongside a picture of his bright, beaming face.

“Arch?”

“Hey, Betty! What’s up?” The cheery note in his voice throws her off instantly. There was no flood of apologies, no hurried explanations as he tells her he’s just caught up but he’s on his way, he’ll be with her for their weekend together in no time.

“What’s up?” Betty means the repetition of his question to sound acidic but it comes out a degree weaker than she’d intended. “Archie, I’ve just driven almost four hours in a snow storm to come and see you, only for Jughead to tell me you _aren’t here_.” Her heavy breathing fills the dead air across the line.

“Shit, that was this weekend?” Betty bites her lower lip as it begins to quiver. “I am _so_ sorry, Betty. I completely spaced – and Veronica invited me to Hawaii super last minute because she’s crazy rich and her dad’s got this jet…” Archie’s voice suddenly sounds like it’s coming through glass. She’d been passed over for a better offer. Again.

“…and now the weather reports are saying that it’s gonna get really bad and no flights are landing.” His voice begins to drift back in, his explanations coming in fast. “We aren’t going to be able to get back until it starts to clear. Betty… I’m so–” Betty shoots up from the couch.

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Please, spare me your pity, Archie.” Her voice is quiet, but Archie has never heard her use this tone with him before. Not when she threatened to stop being his friend after he’d gone behind her back to tell her mom about her date with Trevor, not when he promised to take her to prom only to find out Val wanted to go with him instead, and not even when he’d kissed her unexpectedly before uttering the words ‘was that okay? I want to know if I’m a good kisser before my date with Cheryl this weekend’. Back then she’d been her usual peaches and cream self. Now? She sounds resigned.

“Look, don’t be upset. We can reschedule! And you can stay at mine for as long as you need – I’m sure Jug won’t mind,” he hurries to placate. He’d been with Betty when she had reached the peak of stress before, Alice’s home environment not exactly being voted most nurturing. He knew how anxious she could get. “Betty?”

A bubble of laughter had burst through her pursed lips before she could stop it, and now that it was out the dam had burst. She throws her head back, peals of laughter ringing out through the otherwise silent apartment. She is aware of how crazy she must sound right now, but she just can’t stop it, her sides beginning to ache.

“Err, Betty?” Archie asks again awkwardly. The jubilant blonde pulls in a breath, spontaneous chuckles still escaping every so often as she wipes her fingers beneath her eyes.

“I’ll be sure to make myself at home,” she replies, pulling the phone from her ear and ending the call before he has time to muster a response. She throws the device on the coffee table. The longer she stares at it, darkness signalling no attempt at a redial, the worse she feels. An uncomfortable knot is twisting in her stomach, the tears of laughter turning bitter as everything sinks in, stinging her skin.

God, she’s tired. Her sadness morphs into anger as a highlights reel plays behind her eyes of all the times she’s shed tears over Archie Andrews. She wasn’t just tired, she was tired and pathetic.

“Betty?” The uncertain voice causes her to whip round, coming face to face with a newly clothed Jughead. He has on a pair of red flannel pajama pants, a dark grey cotton shirt, and a uniquely shaped beanie has been shoved over his drying hair which vaguely resembles a crown. He looks cosy. He sees the slight smudge of mascara beneath her eyes.

“Is that Archie’s?” Betty asks suddenly, pointing to the bottle of tequila amongst plates and bowls on the counter. She’s heading towards it before he can answer.

“Yeah, it is but Betty I don’t think you should…” Jughead winces as she unscrews the cap, swigging a gulp. She coughs and splutters as she takes the bottle from her lips, eyes watering for an entirely different reason now.

“Oh, my god. That’s so gross!” she rasps, Jughead regarding her with the same restrained amusement he’s had flittering around his features since she first arrived.

“Tried to warn you,” he quips and she throws him a dry look that doesn’t quite pack the punch she was hoping for. Betty thumps her chest lightly to try and ease the burn. “You don’t really seem the type to knock back the hard liquor,” Jughead notes a little more quietly, raising his eyebrows as he averts his eyes from her face. Betty’s own are alight with flames.

“And what type do I seem like, exactly?” she demands, folding her arms across her chest. Jughead trails his gaze over the girl in front of him, taking in her perfectly pressed jeans, cotton candy sweater and honey gold hair that’s up in a tight ponytail. He falls back into his snarky demeanour before he answers, and Betty practically witnesses the construction of a wall around his person.

“Very perfect girl-next-door.” Jughead mirrors her posture, folding his arms loosely, shoulder leaning against the refrigerator door. Heat rises in Betty’s cheeks, muscle twitching in her jaw as she clenches her teeth. Jughead braces for her onslaught, wanting her to get mad, until suddenly all the tension vanishes from her body, lower lip trembling once again as she turns her eyes to the ground.

“Who’s Veronica?” she asks, voice small. There’s a beat before Jughead answers, still catching up with her sudden mood swing, before he’s fishing his phone out of the deep pocket in his pants.

“Here,” he says, handing her the device after pulling up a picture.

Betty stares down at the girl on the screen, Veronica’s head tilted in laughter as she clings to another girl in the photo. The vague lights of a club are visible in the background. Her olive skin is flawlessly glowing, complimented by the perfect beaming smile across her parted lips. Her midnight hair is sleek in a way Betty thought was only possible in magazines, and her dark eyes hold a glint within them that just reeks of enticing mystery. She looks wild, and beautiful, and _fun_.

“Are she and Archie…?” she begins, knowing that Jughead will pick up her line of questioning. The boy shrugs as he takes back the phone.

“I’ve seen her around here more than once,” he offers. Betty nods, not sure if she wants to run from the apartment and never look back, or collapse into Jughead’s arms and sob. Betty catches the muted view of snow falling rapidly beneath street lamps through Jughead’s open door, pinning her inside, and he looks like he’d abhor the latter option so she just stands, counting her breaths until someone decides to talk.

Jughead moves silently, picking up two shot glasses from the clean side of the sink and pouring the abandoned liquor into them, just short of the top. It wasn’t a habit he frequently indulged in, but right now the tension pressing down on his chest and the utterly defeated look on Betty’s face makes him think the situation demands a little indulgence. He hands it to her, watching the slight tremor in her fingers as she accepts his offer.

“Cheers.” He clinks his glass to hers before they throw the clear liquid back in unison, eyes scrunching against the burn. It’s not as bad as the first time, Betty thinks, as a pleasant warmth fills her stomach and the feeling of being on edge begins to fade slowly. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” Jughead suggests, tipping his head towards the couch. She nods her consent, taking the remote from his outstretched hand as he tells her she can pick. “But, if you pick badly I’ll probably never learn to trust you,” he jokes. It earns him a wry smile.

She scrolls for a while, allowing herself a bitter chuckle as she finally makes her decision.

Jughead’s eyes widen minutely as Betty presses play, shaking his head in amusement as the movie begins with its opening credits. _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes._

 _If only_ , Betty thinks. If only.


	3. Hour 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your wonderful love for this fic, once again. Now onto the tacos...

**Hour 3**

Betty’s eyes had started to feel heavy the moment the movie started, but she’s fallen into an unsettled sleep around the time Lorelei and Dorothy manage to get Ernie Malone’s pants off in search of the roll of film. She startles awake in time to see Marilyn Munroe in her iconic pink dress for the final number; she’d always wanted a dress like that.

She glances over at Jughead who’s slipped down into the cushions, legs comfortably spread and fingers playing absentmindedly with the strand of hair that’s managed to escape his hat. His startlingly blue eyes look a little sleepy around the edges, and Betty is struck for the second time in the space of a few hours with thoughts of how handsome he is. The muted calm of the tequila is still swirling around her head, fogging her thoughts. He feels her gaze on his profile and turns to meet it, soft smile on his lips.

Betty’s stomach gurgles loudly and his smile turns into a grin as she blushes shyly.

“Hungry?” he asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. She nods, reaching for her phone to check the time. The bright numbers flash up reading 19:48 and she realises she hadn’t eaten since a hastily swallowed protein bar before getting into her car earlier. “Hang on.”

Betty jumps as he vaults over the arm of the chair, disappearing into his room before emerging a couple of minutes later, pajamas swapped for jeans, dark green jumper pulled over his head, and a thick wool-lined denim jacket draped over his shoulders. She looks up at him incredulously as he retrieves a pair of blue and red striped gloves out of his pocket and pulls them on.

“Why are you dressed like you’re going outside?” In the hours between arriving and finishing the movie Betty’s pretty sure the snow hasn’t let up – it’s probably increased if anything.

“Because _we’re_ going outside,” he replies with a grin. “To get food.”

“Are you crazy? There’s probably like a foot of snow out there already, don’t you have food in here?” Jughead throws her a look.

“First of all, the crazy is debatable; it depends who you ask. And secondly, you’re in a room shared by two college freshmen. You’re lucky you’re not swimming through dirty laundry right now and you want a fully stocked kitchen as well? You’re expectations are a little too high there, Cooper.” Betty rolls her eyes at his spiel, standing hesitantly.

“But it’s freezing…” she starts to complain doubtfully. Jughead turns his eyes skyward, pushing his beanie more firmly over his ears.

“And thus God invented the winter coat. Come on, Betts – live a little!” The use of a newfound nickname causes her to start. Jughead appears not to have noticed, Betty quickly composing her features. His taunt niggles at her slightly and before she knows it she’s pulling her arms through her thick, tan trench coat and fishing through her belongings for her gloves. “That’s more like it,” he says through a smirk and she can’t help but let her eyes follow him affectionately as he opens the front door. Her fingers go to the elastic in her hair, releasing the waves in the hopes of keeping her ears warmer.

“I’ll concede, but only because I’m so hungry,” she grumbles half-heartedly as he locks the door.

“Your hair looks nice down.” The compliment is unexpected and so casual that Betty flounders for a moment. What puzzles her the most is that Jughead didn’t seem to have any ulterior motive in saying it, simply tossing it her way before starting down the hall. There’s no, _Betty that’s a lovely sweater… but do you really think it goes with that skirt?_ She jogs a little to catch up once her legs unfreeze, tucking a strand behind her ear nervously before realising that defeats her ‘ear warmer’ strategy and flicking it back out again.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, eyes on the ground. “T-that’s a nice sweater.” She curses her own ineptitude, but is grateful for the companionable silence that settles over them as they descend the stairs. He holds the door open for her, waving her outside with an exaggerated gesture.

Betty’s foot sinks, calf deep, in white, downy snow. “Ugh.”

“Ugh? What do you mean ‘ugh’?” Jughead asks as if she’s personally offended him. Betty shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just grew up with this stuff – it’s a nuisance at best,” she explains. “I seriously considered going to school on the West Coast just to get away from the winters here if it wasn’t for my–” She pauses, not sure if sharing the secret of her overbearing mother and institutionalised sister this early in their acquaintance would be considered too much. Jughead looks at her expectantly. “I just got into Columbia, is all,” she finishes lamely.

“Congrats,” Jughead commends briefly, before continuing with his previous offence. “Not to sound all Hallmark but don’t you think snow is magical? Most people usually do,” he says, raising an eyebrow. _His eyebrows are so expressive_ , Betty notices. She catches herself thinking about how unlike ‘most people’ she deems herself to secretly be, once again.

“West Coaster?” she guesses.

“Born and bred,” he grins. She nods, pleased with her correct assumption. “But really, there’s just something so peaceful about it; quiet. Everything shuts down if it’s heavy enough and you can sit inside,” Betty gives him a pointed look at this, gesturing to their surroundings. “You can sit inside _once you’re fully supplied_ and just feel like you’ve got no responsibilities.” Betty understands what he means. Snowfall presses a pause button on the whole world for a moment or two. She’s in desperate need of pause.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she concedes with a small tilt of her lips, casting a quick look to Jughead out of the corner of her eye. Unexpectedly, he’s frowning.

“You don’t have to agree with me,” he says, shoving his hands deep in his jacket pockets. Betty feels her expression mirror his own. Here he was, trying to explain the merits of heavy snowfall to her, only to be upset when she agreed. She was lost.

“You’ve swayed me, I guess,” she replies with a shrug. Jughead peers at her from the corner of his eye for a few unnerving seconds before letting out a heavy sigh. The next moment his frown drops.

“Besides, there’s nothing better than untrodden snow,” he continues as if uninterrupted, kicking up a cloud with the toe of his boot. It’s true, she has some fond memories of waking up on snow days, heading into the front yard to build a fort and toss snowballs at Archie across the road as the little redheaded boy fired them back.

Betty’s eyes take on a mischievous glint as she bends down and quickly scoops up a handful of snow, squeezing it and throwing it in Jughead’s direction before he can blink. It thwacks the sleeve of his jacket before bursting into dust. Betty can’t help but let out a joyous giggle at the look of pure shock gracing his face.

“Oh, it is on.” Betty squeals as he bends down to retaliate, skipping as quickly as she can with the hindrance at her feet, away from his onslaught. She dodges his first throw swiftly, only to be hit in the back by his second. She ducks behind a lamp post to gather her ammo.

“You’re disturbing the peace!” she yells at him, rosy flush high on her cheekbones, snowflakes turning the tip of her nose pink.

“You started it, I’m merely following by example,” he returns as another snowball hits him square in the chest. He’s worked up a stock, however, throwing one after the other until she can’t dodge them anymore.

“Okay, I surrender!” she yelps, trying to get away as she feels some of the snow slip chillingly beneath the collar of her coat. Her foot hits an icy patch and suddenly she’s falling, eyes clenching shut as she braces for impact.

The feeling never comes, the warmth of a hard chest hitting her back instead.

“Careful,” Jughead murmurs, hands on her waist to steady her. She’s breathing a little faster than normal, and she’s not entirely sure it’s from the shock.

“Thanks,” she breathes, righting herself quickly. There’s colour on both his cheeks when she turns to look at him, but she’s sure it’s just from the biting cold. Betty clears her throat. “Where are we going anyway?” They fall back into step besides one another.

“There’s a market on the corner just up here,” Jughead points. “We can get some groceries, but that’s not what we’re having for dinner,” he adds with a flash of his smile.

“We’re not?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p but not adding further explanation. The market is dead when they arrive, everybody already having retired for the storm. Betty picks up a few things for breakfast, knowing she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Thoughts of stocking up Archie’s cupboards so he has something to come back to invade her mind, but she pushes them down quickly. That’s not her responsibility; _he’s_ not her responsibility.

Jughead rounds the corner, basket full with a rainbow of sweets and confectionary. Betty lifts a brow. He shrugs, following her to the checkout.

“Gotta have a varied diet,” he quips as she lifts items to the conveyor belt, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

***

“What is _Mama’s_?” she asks a few minutes later, nose scrunched delicately in unbridled disgust as they stand before a dingy looking shop, tucked just inside an alley way.

“Any student passing through here has to sample the delights of _Mama’s_ late night tacos. It’s just a rite of passage,” Jughead explains, heading towards the door.

“You don’t exactly seem like a joiner,” Betty says, lowering her voice as they enter the shop. Jughead greets the man at the counter, ordering two specials quickly before turning back to look at her.

“Meaning?” Betty shifts under his gaze.

“Well… from what I’ve heard from Archie you seem like a bit of a loner,” she winces, aware that her words may sound a little harsh. A feeling of guilt curls around her stomach – partly for betraying Archie’s private conversations to her, and partly because Jughead has been nothing but accommodating since she arrived. The memory of his earlier description of her, no matter how frustrating, does little to ease the feeling. Jughead’s face is unreadable.

“True,” he finally says, and Betty lets out a breath she doesn’t realise she’s been holding. “But I’m always available when it comes to food.” Betty chuckles, accepting the polystyrene tray that’s handed to her.

“We have this place back home. It’s like a real old school diner with red vinyl booths and neon signs. Pop does the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, and his burgers can cure even the worst days,” she tells him with a reminiscent smile. The phantom smell of freshly cooked fries makes her chest clench, a homesickness she’s not used to feeling settling over her as she thinks of the kind old man with the warm brown eyes.

“Burgers? Sounds like my kind of place.”

“I’ll take you one day,” she tells him, the offhand comment coming out all on its own. Betty can’t be sure but she thinks she sees colour spreading across the base of his neck as he looks down at the floor.

“Is this safe to eat?” she asks once they’re on their way back again. “I mean, that place didn’t look the cleanest, and I’m not getting sick for some second rate taco when we’ve got perfectly good food now,” she worries. Jughead just shakes his head.

“Just wait, Betts. You’re gonna love it.” For some reason, she believes him.


	4. Hour 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the love! Getting a little bit deeper with this one.

**Hour 4**

Betty had every reason to believe him, she realises once they’re back inside. The food is incredible, and just spicy enough to be pleasantly warming after their excursion through the snow to get it.

“We Jones’ know our food.”

Jughead had returned to his previous attire, Betty joining him by changing out of her snow-dampened clothes and into the fleecy pajamas and fluffy socks she’d packed. His lips had curled at the sight.

“What?” she asks defensively, fastening the elastic back round her hair. He holds his hands up in surrender, folding himself next to her on the floor so they can eat from the coffee table.

“Nothing, just didn’t take you for a _Jurassic Park_ kind of girl,” he replies, nodding his head towards the symbol emblazoned across her chest.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Jughead Jones,” she says through a smirk, following up the remark with a huge bite of her food. She smiles at him out of the corner of her eye as he finds the aforementioned film on the screen and hits play, the soothing tones of Richard Attenborough filling the apartment as he pops a cork for the opening of his newest attraction.

Betty moans around another bite, eyes sliding closed as a mixture of hot sauce, crispy batter, and fresh salsa bursts across her tongue. “Oh my god, these are so good,” she gets out around a less than dainty mouthful. Jughead finds himself slightly disappointed that her eyes were shut, wanting to know whether this blasphemous exclamation would have caused her to blink too.

“Oh, you’ve got…” he starts, reaching out to swipe the smear of hot sauce from her cheek with his thumb. They both still under his touch as he lingers for a little longer than necessary, confirming that her skin was indeed as soft as it looked. He clears his throat as he pulls back, Betty’s eyes focusing intently on the screen as Jughead digs into his food with more gusto than even he usually displays.

Betty leans back against the couch with a sigh, hands resting atop her slightly bloated stomach, completely satisfied as she watches the kids get trapped under their jeep.

“You have my undying trust when it comes to food,” she says, sweeping her fingers across the corners of her mouth to check for remnants. Jughead turns to her.

“And you have mine when it comes to picking the movie,” he replies, eyes dancing with humour. Their gazes hold until the impressive roar of the T-Rex tears them apart.

“Did you know the sound guy recorded the noise baby elephants make and slowed them down to make part of the roar?” Betty babbles to fill the silence.

“I didn’t,” Jughead replies, collecting their empty containers. “But it shall be my new party piece.”

“And what parties are these?” she asks teasingly, chin in her hand as she watches him walk towards the trash. Archie had told her of his many attempt to get Jughead to mingle with the masses.

“Touché,” he says, pointing his finger back at her over his shoulder. Betty giggles as she moves to sit on the couch. She can’t remember feeling this comfortable around someone so immediately, she muses as she tucks her feet beneath her.

Perhaps it’s because she’s been around the same people her whole life, people who have seen her grow up; people who have expectations about her. Betty Cooper will help you organise that event. Betty Cooper will edit that paper for you. Betty Cooper will tutor you.

_Betty Cooper will maintain her 4.0. Betty Cooper will eat the bare minimum of calories per day. Betty Cooper will campaign for Homecoming Queen. Betty Cooper will go out with footballer Archie Andrews._

_Betty Cooper will always be perfect._

To Jughead, she appeared to be ‘Betts’, the flustered, snow-doused girl that had turned up on his doorstep out of the blue and hadn’t left yet. Sure, she’d been a little sour upon arrival, but that was to be expected of anyone who’d arrived to find their best friend had abandoned them. _Abandoned_.

No, it was fine. She was having fun for the first time in a long while, and it was all thanks to the slightly strange boy, with dark hair, intriguing eyes, and an amusingly shaped beanie; a boy who didn’t know about the bottle of prescription pills rattling around in the bottom of her suitcase. He didn’t _want_ anything from her, she thought with a contented sigh.

“You want a hot chocolate?” His voice brings her back to the present. He isn’t looking at her, instead busying himself with unloading the bag of junk food he’d purchased at the store.

“I wasn’t aware hot chocolate and fish tacos complimented each other,” she retorts cheekily. He throws her a brief smirk.

“Anything goes with anything if you eat them together,” he offers, voice full of false wisdom, and she can’t fault his logic. “Besides, where is that trust I heard you speak of earlier?” He holds up a mug, shaking it in question. Betty nods, the deep-rooted desire for snow to be accompanied by hot chocolate outweighing her reservations.

Jughead returns moments later with her mug, piled obnoxiously high with whipped cream and marshmallows. The indulgence is not something she’s used to, but just as quickly as the disapproving face of her mother appears before her eyes, Betty has blinked it away.

“Just how I like it,” she hums over the steam, relishing in his responding laugh.

 

**Hour 5**

“You’ve known Archie all your life, right?” Jughead asks hesitantly as Tim gets shocked off the electric fencing. Betty stiffens, the imminent discussion of her backstory looming.

“Since we were babies,” she replies, eyes fixed to the screen. She sees Jughead nod out of her peripheries.

“Do you…” The twitch of her fingers makes him change his mind. “Was he always…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “Such a ‘bro’?” Betty laughs, subconsciously letting the tension drain out of her shoulders as the conversation takes a more light-hearted turn.

“No. Archie’s a good guy, he can just be a little… impulsive?” she offers, not sure how to describe her best friend of eighteen years. “What I’m trying to say is he always _means_ well, he just doesn’t always think everything through, or see stuff through anyone’s eyes but his own.” Jughead hears the unhindered affection in her tone.

“He talks about you a lot,” Jughead says, and Betty can feel the tension creeping back up her spine. “You’re in all of his stories from back home. You guys sound really close.” The few occasions that Archie and Jughead had ordered pizza together, sharing it over gaming tournaments on Archie’s Xbox, they’d spoken about their lives in the way strangers do.

From the moment she’d arrived at his doorstep Jughead knew much more about Betty Cooper than a stranger ought to know. She was a writer, a cheerleader, and valedictorian. She was the epitome of sugar and spice and all things nice in the eyes of Archie Andrews. She helped him pass his English test in the second grade, and tutored him in Math in tenth. She always texted back within the minute and was a late night ear to listen to his problems the second he appeared at his window, flashing his light three times in their age old signal for the other’s attention. Betty Cooper was the darling of Riverdale.

“All good stuff I hope,” Betty tries to laugh, but her tone misses the mark. “Hey, maybe we should finish off Archie’s tequila for revenge, since he’s not here to stop us,” she jokes, voice sounding a little strained. She’s off the couch and heading for the bottle before he can answer. There isn’t much left, but Betty isn’t the type to drink much and it’ll go straight to her head. But in this apartment she doesn’t want to be a type, she wants to be just another college student, visiting from out of town. _This is what they do._ Jughead doesn’t drink much either, but any liquor that goes down his throat is a drop less that goes down hers, he thinks. The sound of Raptor claws taping against kitchen tiles fills the room ominously.

Jughead knows all about facades. And Betty Cooper is a living, breathing one. He’d recognise such an act anywhere; he’d lived with one for most of his life. She drops the used shot glasses on the table and pours them both one.

“This definitely doesn’t go with fish tacos,” he mutters dryly as they take one each, throwing it back. A shudder goes through his body as the liquid hits his stomach, Betty cringing delicately at the taste.

“Why Boston?” she asks a few minutes later, fingers lazily twisting the end of her ponytail. The freeing effects of the alcohol are rolling over her in waves, loosening her tongue and disregarding her desire not to be intrusive.

He hesitates. A few years ago he would have evaded the question with sarcastic comments and perhaps a deprecating joke, maybe even a few months ago. But he’s grown tired of the secrets, and the lying, and the _shame_. It’s not his fault, and it may have taken him most of his years to realise it, but he knew that now. He’d made his peace. But the pretty girl sitting next to him causes him to pause. Because she is pretty, beautiful even, in the way a Hitchcock blonde is – timeless. He’d be a fool if he didn’t notice such a fact, but the fact that he keeps noticing it is what’s making him nervous. He didn’t observe, acknowledge, and disregard. He held on.

He doesn’t want to cloud her eyes with his demons, but the truth is balancing on the tip of his tongue, whether from the alcohol or his sheer desire to have her know him, so he can know her in return.

“Aside from the snow?” he jokes, earning a giggle. “My dad is in a rehabilitation facility for alcohol addiction out here, and I wanted to be near him.” He laughs internally as the screams from the speakers make a hilariously fitting backdrop for his reveal. Betty’s expression drops as she glances nervously to the bottle on the table, apology watering her eyes.

“Oh, Jughead– I’m sorry, I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t even ask if you…” she stutters, straightening up in worry. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently back into the cushions.

“Hey, it’s all good. I wouldn’t drink it if I didn’t want to,” he reassures her, and she searches his eyes for a moment, worrying her lower lip between her teeth before eventually nodding. “Difference is, I _know_ when I don’t want to,” he tells her with a small shrug.

“I’m so–” Jughead looks at her as she cuts herself off, halting her apology. She smiles at him instead and he’s grateful for her reservation of pity. Betty knew what it was like to hate pity. “At least he’s recovering?” she says instead, the slight inflection in her tone questioning.

“Yep, on his way,” Jughead nods. The impressive crescendo of John Williams’ composition fills the room.

“Is it my turn to ask a question?” Jughead chances, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch so his fingers can play with the curl that’s fallen from beneath his hat again. Betty hums, rolling her neck round to face him.

“Sure,” she says unsuspectingly. He inhales.

“What exactly happened just after graduation?”


	5. Hour 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again your lovely comments astound me - for every one a baby gets their beanie <3

**Hour 6**

Suddenly Betty is gone from the couch.

Jughead practically feels the wind she creates in her fast movements to get away from him.

“How do you know about that?” she asks from where she’s standing in front of the TV. Jughead sits up straighter, holding her with a level gaze. The alcohol is making her head feel heavy, her tongue feel numb – or was it because of the way he refused to stop staring at her as she felt her heart begin to race?

 _Not here, not another person._ Jughead wasn’t supposed to know about this, about what she did at that party. No one outside of Riverdale should know. A clean slate, that’s what she’d been longing for, what she’d been grasping at for a long time now; that incident just pushed her over the edge, was the last straw in taking her final steps out of Riverdale and hoping she didn’t have to go back. Polly was in Greendale, and her mom would be quite happy to let her spend her holidays trapped inside the house for as few days as possible, after the show she had made of herself. As far as the rest of the population of that town was concerned, Betty Cooper was now a ghost.

And wasn’t that true? After it happened, the Betty Cooper that people had always known –sweet, wholesome, predictable – was no more. She’d marred her perfectly crafted reputation beyond repair, the standards she’d been held to for so long so ingrained that she couldn’t even find it in herself to be relieved. She was just ruined.

“It’s not his fault, but Archie may have mentioned something…” Jughead sees a light go out in Betty’s eyes and hurries to placate her. “He didn’t tell anyone what happened. We were just at this party at the start of semester, and he briefly said something about hoping it didn’t end like the last one he went to, that something happened with his best friend,” Jughead explains warily.

Betty nods, downcast eyes causing the first hot tears to spill over and onto her cheeks, fingers clenching automatically.

“Try to leave one reputation behind and another one follows you,” she laughs humourlessly, bitterness coating her tone.

“Hey,” Jughead stands, moving to step in front of her and stop her pacing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business,” he says soothingly, hand twitching towards her shoulder before he pulls it back again. Betty looks up at him with wide, watery eyes and his chest tightens. She lets out a shaky sigh.

“Before, when you said I seemed ‘perfect’,” her voice is quiet but she spits the word out like it tastes bad. “What did you mean?” she asks, fingers uncurling to fiddle with the hem of her shirt. He takes a subconscious step closer to her.

“I guess I meant you seemed impossible. There’s no such thing, Betts,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a stray tear away. “I was kind of waiting for you to tell me to fuck off. But when you didn’t, I realised that you might believe that’s what you were,” he tells her, rising inflection turning the guess into the hint of a question.

She sucks in a sharp breath. How did he know?

“The way Archie spoke about you – it was clear how much you meant to him but… I guess I heard something in his stories about you that I could relate to,” he finishes cryptically. Betty scrunches her eyebrows as she waits for him to explain. Jughead searches her eyes for a second, irises wide and imploring, before turning and heading back to sit cross-legged on the cushions they’d left on the floor. He looks to her, waiting for her to join him. She mirrors his position and waits.

“Dad lost his job when I was seven. My sister, Jellybean, was only one at the time and there had been complications with her birth that my parents were still paying medical bills for. We moved into the trailer park on the South side of town. It wasn’t enough to cover the costs, though, because Dad started to… do a little something extra on the side. There was this gang,” Jughead huffs a laugh through his nose. “Let’s just say they were less than savoury characters.” He pauses, and Betty watches as a show reel of memories flits behind his eyes. They’re unfocused and distant, no longer with her in the apartment as he remembers.

“Anyway, whatever he was doing with them didn’t sit well with my mom. They’d fight at all hours, I don’t think it was possible for them to be in the same room as one another towards the end – and there aren’t many places to go in a trailer. I think they always fought and I just didn’t notice until we were in such close quarters.” He swallows. “But they’d fight, and Dad would drink, and they’d fight because of that, and then something would get smashed.” Jughead’s voice turns bitter. “It was like they were immune to Jellybean’s cries at that point, so I’d go in and pick her up and make up stories to tell her till she fell back to sleep. I was doing it mainly for her, but any time I could spend in a different reality was a bonus for me too.” He’s running his nail along the embroidered pattern of the cushion beneath him.

“A few years later Mom left. And then a few years after that she came back and took JB with her.” Jughead blinks back the tears he remembers releasing the day he watched the car drive away, his sister inside. Suddenly, he’s back in the room with Betty.

“There were times though – birthdays, and Christmas, and family outings – when things were like they used to be. Dad wasn’t drinking too much, and Mom wasn’t always tired. They were parents and we were children, and everything was the way it should be.

“I’d see my friends at school and tell them about how _normal_ my life was. In public, the Jones’ were everybody’s All-American family.” Jughead laughs again, and this time it’s genuine. “I used to make up these little comic strips, with us as the characters. We’d do the most mundane things and I’d pretend they were real life. If I focused on them hard enough they became memories.” He meets her eyes again, their intensity stopping Betty’s breath slightly.

“The lying became too much, and I was tired of keeping up this act in front of my friends. I stopped talking to them, and eventually they stopped trying to talk to me. If there was no one to lie to I didn’t have to lie anymore. A lot of stuff happened in the middle, but now Dad’s getting help, and I’m getting back to a point where I don’t feel the need to lie anymore – it never did any good. It didn’t put my family back together.”

Their gazes hold even after Jughead is finished talking. The credits to the movie are running quietly in the background.

“You didn’t have to tell me all that,” Betty says quietly. Jughead shrugs.

“But I did. What do you think of me now?” he asks, and the question throws her off. He seemed to do that a lot.

Betty looks at him for a moment. He was confident, yet guarded. He was funny and empathetic and he’d just told a girl he’d known for a few hours his life story.

“You’re brave,” she tells him honestly. Jughead smiles softly at her in gratitude, the back of his neck heating up gently. Betty takes a breath, understanding his point.

“My sister started dating this guy, Jason Blossom. His sister, Cheryl, was on the cheerleading squad with me and she had this big party after graduation. Jason and Polly’s relationship was… turbulent, to say the least. The last argument they had before they broke up did something to Polly. She was inconsolable and distraught, and Mom did what she always does and made it worse. Polly got sent to a mental health facility in the town over when she should have been starting her freshman year of college.” Betty’s eyes water, but she doesn’t let the tears loose this time.

“Jason was home for summer and he came down to the party. He started making all kinds of rude remarks about Polly, about how she was such a good girl by day but ‘a freak in the sheets at night’.” The quote makes Betty shudder. “He was laughing about it with all these jocks and it made me so mad, because Polly was locked away like some kind of prisoner. I told him to stop it but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

_“Polly is where she belongs,” Jason threw at her, baring his teeth behind a wide grin. Betty’s fists began to clench as a wave of darkness blurred her vision. “That girl is insane. You know she tried to convince me to marry her, said she wanted us to start a family? How pathetic.”_

_“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Betty seethed between gritted teeth. Jason laughed, loud and menacing._

_“Little Betty Cooper – what’s the matter, princess? Finally found your fight?” Jason glanced to the side, meeting the eyes of a few of the crowd that had begun to gather on the patio. “Don’t forget, Betty. I’ve been in your house. Your bathroom. I’ve seen those pills in your cabinet – crazy must run in your family,” the redhead snarled, leaning towards her as he revealed her secrets to their peers._

_Betty didn’t remember when she began to move, but all of a sudden she was lunging for him. The surprise movement threw Jason off guard, her weight managing to topple him as he took a step back, foot slipping against the edge of the pool. With a shove to his chest, Betty sent Jason flying into the water, his head knocking against the lip of the pool on the way down._

_Jason emerged, clinging to the stone edge, eyes clearly dazed and disorientated from the blow. Betty crouched by the edge of the pool, watching him splutter for air._

_“Say you’re sorry, Jason. Say you’re sorry for what you did to me!” she screamed. The world was a blur, nothing felt real._

_The next thing she knew, Archie’s arms were around her waist, hushing her gently as he dragged her away, the people in the distance rushing to help Jason out of the water._

“I don’t remember it very clearly,” Betty tells Jughead, voice wavering with nerves. “I just remember this… darkness taking over, and it scared me. That I don’t know what I’m capable of, that I could…” her throat hitches, cutting off her sentence. She looks up as Jughead touches her wrist gingerly.

“Ask me what I think of you now,” he whispers.

“What do you think of me now?” she asks, voice just as quiet.

“I think you’ve spent too long in the shadows, Betty Cooper. Trapped inside your own expectations. But now you can finally learn to breathe.” She wants to wrap her arms around him to hide the fresh tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t.

“It’s unfair – you knew more about me when I arrived than I knew about you, than I knew about myself,” she adds with a chuckle, the moment she met Jughead seeming like an age ago. Jughead smiles.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. It would be your honour to get to know me, Betty Cooper,” he tells her, his smile shifting to a coy smirk. She laughs, the sound a little fuller than before.

“Are we going to regret all this oversharing in the morning?” she asks, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. It’s meant as a joke, to diffuse the shift that’s happened between them in just a few short hours, but there’s a nervousness behind her question.

“I hope not,” he replies sincerely.


	6. Hour 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we return to our previously programmed schedule. Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, I'm off to reply to them right now! Bit of a time jump with this one, hope you enjoy <3

**Hour 18**

Jughead had put _Kill Bill Vol.1_ on after their heart to heart, utterly offended that Betty had never seen it before.

“What do you mean you’ve never ‘gotten round’ to watching it? I– I can’t even comprehend such a sentence,” he tells her dramatically, one hand clutching at his chest. “You’re wounding me, Betty. I had so much faith in you,” he says, whispering the last part in mock hurt. Betty sends him an amused smile, shrugging once more.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, pulling the blanket he’d gotten for her once he noticed her shivering further over her lap. “You can feign heartache all you want, I still haven’t seen it.” Jughead sighs, instantly pulling the movie up on screen.

“I have to rectify this immediately,” he mutters. Betty giggles as she thinks she hears him grumble something along the lines of “an insult to the godfather of indie cinema” under his breath.

She feels a little bit like she’s floating as she watches Daryl Hannah stalk down the corridor to _Twisted Nerve_. It may be the exhaustion and the lingering effects of the tequila, or the unburdening of her secrets to listening ears, but she doesn’t question the reasons too much because the pleasant feeling of weightlessness is something she doesn’t want to go away. Rarely experienced, it’s already addictive. Idle thoughts about being around Jughead prompting such a high drift around her peripheries, but Betty doesn’t focus on them too much.

When the credits start to roll, Jughead turns to her with a lazy swing of his head.

“You tired?” he asks, voice bordering on gravelly from disuse. They’d sat in that same companionable silence that seemed so natural to them for the rest of the movie – Betty also got the feeling that if she’d tried to talk he’d complain that she wasn’t paying attention. He’d rolled his eyes at her antics when she’d put her hand up, biting her lip to hold in a laugh before asking if they could pause it so she could go to the bathroom. Betty shakes her head no. She doesn’t really want the feeling to end just yet, even if her eyelids are getting heavier by the minute.

“Nope,” she hums. “Can we watch the next one?” Jughead’s responding grin sends a flutter through her stomach, but she tells herself it’s just the unsavoury mix of tacos and tequila.

Betty doesn’t really remember when she fell asleep, but all of a sudden she’s being woken by gentle, prodding fingers against her arm. She blinks blearily at her surroundings, lights and TV now off and sending the room into darkness, Jughead leaning over her from above where she’s slipped down the couch cushions. His curls have fallen over his eyes, and her sleep addled brain tries to tell her it would be a good idea to push them back for him. Her hand is reaching up before the more sane part of her brain can restrain her. He stills under her touch, as does she, but the tension is soon gone from his shoulders and she can see the amusement in his eyes, illuminated by the muted glow pouring in from his open bedroom door.

“Time for bed,” he whispers, pulling her up from her warm spot on the sofa, her frame shivering and not just from the cold. “I, err… I put some of my spare sheets on Archie’s bed for you. Didn’t think you’d want to sleep in… you know,” he says, dropping his hold on her to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. The implication is there in his tone. The sheets that Archie and Veronica had… shared. Her cheeks heat up, and she’s thankful it’s so dark, but then the warmth moves to her chest.

“Thank you,” she tells him sincerely, shuffling towards the room. He stops in the doorway of his own to take one last look at her, rumpled from sleep, hair slipping from her ponytail.

“Goodnight, Betts,” he whispers.

“Night, Juggie,” she replies, closing the door softly. The nickname makes him start. It’s what Jellybean had called him when she was really young. He hadn’t heard it in years. It makes his chest constrict with suppressed longing for a second, before the feeling is being replaced with a giddy lightness that he doesn’t really want to address yet.

***

Betty wakes to bright light and an unpleasant cotton wool feeling in her mouth. She pulls her face from the pillow – it had smelt fresh and just enough like ‘boy’ to be very inviting – and squints at the numbers on her phone screen. To her surprise, it’s almost eleven and Betty can’t recall a time she slept in so late, or slept so deeply.

She stretches, enjoying the pop in her joints as they give way under the action. Rolling out of bed she smooths and reties her ponytail, a halo of frizzy fly-aways surrounding her face from the night before. Padding through the living room she notices Jughead doesn’t seem to be awake yet, his door still tightly shut and no sign of movement throughout the rest of the apartment. She stares at her reflection as she brushes her teeth, frowning at the slight redness around her eyes.

There’s an anticipation building up in the pit of her stomach as she gets washed and ready for the day, opting to put her comfy pajamas back on instead of getting dressed. Betty pauses at the sound of every phantom creak she thinks she hears echoing throughout the apartment, thinking that maybe Jughead has ventured out for the day. The cover of darkness and snowfall and a few shots had paved the way to conversations Betty didn’t think she’d ever be having, especially with a perfect stranger. Memories of her admissions circle her, buzzing incessantly around her head like a fly that just won’t let up and her stomach flips again, nervous for what the day will bring. Would he realise just how much of a mess she was, now with a clearer head and the bright white light of the sun reflecting off the blanket of snow that pinned them together in this small space? Would they avoid each other until the weather cleared and he could finally get her to leave, later telling Archie stories of how he had weird taste in best friends?

 _He wouldn’t do that. He shared, too._ A hopeful voice at the back of her mind tries to reassure her that her concerns were for nought. Despite the short getting to know you period, there was something about Jughead that made her feel comfortable, safe in the knowledge that whatever she shared wouldn’t go further than these four walls. The notion was both thrilling and confusing, but she wasn’t ready to let go of it just yet.

By eleven thirty the expectation is becoming too much, Betty deciding to make a brunch of sorts in the hopes that the smell of frying bacon and pancakes would lure Jughead out of his room into the land of the wakeful. She doesn’t have to wait long before he appears in the doorway.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep. He stretches and Betty can’t help but follow the movement closely, watching the way his shirt rides up and his pants are slung a little bit too low on his hips. She flushes, turning back to the stove quickly.

“Only just,” she quips, smiling as she hears him snort.

“You’re making breakfast? How very domestic,” he teases back, coming up to stand behind her so he can peer over her shoulder. She can feel the warmth of him down the length of her back, breath tickling her ear. “Are those blueberries or chocolate chips?” he asks, nodding towards the pancakes.

“Blueberries.” He sighs and she turns to see him shaking his head.

“Fruit in my pancakes, the reason I have trust issues,” he laments in mock seriousness. There’s a beat before Betty bursts out laughing, shaking her head at him.

“ _Gotta have a varied diet_ ,” she tells him, repeating his words from last night, tongue caught between her teeth in mocking. Jughead narrows his eyes at her, poking her deftly in the side. She squeals, the sound ringing out louder than either of them expected, jumping a mile to avoid further advances as he hits her right in her most ticklish spot. He blinks at her outburst for a second, corners of his lips turning up involuntarily. Betty stares at him, slightly breathless, before the smell of the bacon pulls her back to the task at hand, clearing her throat softly.

“So, what’s the weather looking like?” Jughead says, moving to retrieve plates out of the cupboard, thankful that there’s still some left – he’ll wash up later.

“The snow’s stopped, but the reports say the roads won’t be fully cleared until tomorrow,” she tells him, setting out portions for both of them. She’d checked her phone while waiting for Jughead to wake up, finding that crews were already hard at work trying to clear the blockages, but most of the surrounding area had come to a standstill. She doesn’t notice that there’s no follow up texts from Archie.

“I guess we’re still well and truly snowed in, then,” Jughead comments, setting the maple syrup on the counter. Betty shrugs at him.

“I guess we are,” she replies, hand brushing his as she goes to take the bottle. Her fingers linger over his before Jughead startles, pulling away and ducking his head as he picks up his plate.

“Um, thanks for this, by the way. You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, eyes glancing up at her appreciatively.

“It’s no trouble, Juggie. I like cooking, and it’s the least I can do for how accommodating you’ve been. It’s not like you signed up to be my babysitter this weekend,” she jokes wryly.

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, busying himself with piling toppings on his stack before moving over to the coffee table. “And hey, you’re paying your way,” he tells her a little louder, around a huge mouthful of pancake. “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had, seriously, can barely notice the blueberries,” he tells her with a cheeky smile, eyes glistening. Betty laughs, folding herself besides him and digging in.

There’s not much conversation as they eat, the only sounds around them coming from the episode of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ Jughead had put on in the background.

“Listen, about last night…” Jughead begins eventually, when they’re mopping up the last traces of maple syrup from their plates. Betty suddenly becomes very interested in the pattern on the porcelain.

“It’s fine,” she tells him quickly, not wanting to bring the sordid confessions of the night into the bright peace of the day. “We don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry I unloaded all of that on you–” Betty rushes out, hoping to defuse any oncoming worries Jughead is about to tell her. The cool press of his fingers on the inside of her wrist stops her babbling. The gesture is the same as last night, and Betty melts beneath it. It’s comforting while not being too invasive, holding a reassurance she’s not used to getting. She can’t help but wish his touch would deepen.

“I was just going to say that anything you said is safe with me,” he soothes, her earlier hopeful thoughts coming true as the words spill from his mouth. “And I’m glad that you felt you could share with me,” he adds, a nervousness creeping in around the edges of his eyes.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“Tragic backstories unlocked, huh?” he jokes with a gentle laugh. Betty ducks her head, but lets a chuckle slip from her lips still.

 Betty can feel an electricity sparking in the sudden closeness that’s fallen over them. They startle as the theme tune for the show breaks the tension. Jughead removes his hand, throwing her one last shy smile before picking up their plates and moving to finally tackle the mess that awaits him in the sink.

 “So, what are your plans for the day?” Betty asks, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. He pauses, turning around to cast his eyes over the apartment in contemplation. His gaze lands on the blanket still strewn across the sofa.

“Ever built a fort?”


	7. Hour 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support, here is the anticipated fort building...

**Hour 20**

Betty had been tasked with rearranging the furniture while Jughead rounded up every sheet, blanket, and cushion he could find to build their fort. She had carefully manoeuvred the free-standing lamps into the centre of the room to act as the main pillars of the structure, shoving the couch away from the wall with a string of undainty grunts, before tackling the TV stand, pushing it closer and moving the coffee table out of the way.

Jughead stumbles in, nearly invisible behind the mound of downy pillows and duvets he’s attempting to carry in all at once. Betty rushes to help him.

“You could have made two trips!” she chastises, buckling under the surprisingly heavy mountain of feathers and fleece. Jughead dips to take some of the load back, stopping her from falling.

“What can I say, I can’t resist a challenge,” he retorts, smiling eyes catching hers over the top of the bundle. Betty rolls her eyes at his boyish behaviour, but is immediately excited again when the fort starts to take shape.

“I took the sheets off your bed again, I’ll put them back later, they were just the cleanest ones around,” Jughead tells her sheepishly, dropping the pile of grey cotton onto the couch. Betty just smiles, struck once again by how simply thoughtful he is. She stands amid the mess they’ve made, hands on her hips as she looks at him for direction.

“Alright, boss. How are we doing this?” she grins, enjoying the moment of childish freedom. Jughead sends her a mock salute before offering her his hand to pull her out of the mess so they can get to building. Betty feels a swoop in her stomach at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around hers, trying to keep the irrational disappointment at bay when he lets go again. _This is crazy,_ Betty thinks, _pull yourself together._

“Duvets on the ground, cushions and pillows against the back like this…” Jughead sets to work with a serious focus that borders on comical. Betty does as she’s told, enjoying seeing this lanky, teenaged boy get so invested in building a blanket fort.

“You really know what you’re doing,” she teases as they’re holding either side of the sheet, getting ready to throw it over the lamps. Jughead shrugs, a look of false modesty on his face.

“I’m just a pro, Betts. Don’t worry, with my teaching we can maybe get you to junior apprentice level by weeks end,” he jokes, lifting his chin proudly. Betty pretends to be offended.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that the forts Polly and I used to build were unparalleled!” she throws back, a sudden unexpected pang hitting her chest. Whenever there was a thunderstorm outside, or her mom and dad got into some of their worse arguments and brought the storm _inside_ , Polly would be by her side in minutes, stringing up soft lights beneath their tied up blankets until the world around them finally calmed. Betty tries not to let her longing show on her face but she’s not always good at hiding her emotions. Jughead notices, eyes softening.

“JB always loved it when we’d build forts, too. Like the kids did in the movies she watched,” Jughead says with a fond smile, eyes distancing briefly before returning to the moment again. Betty’s overcome with affection – he’s always balancing her out, she thinks as they continue to build their camp for the afternoon, always validating whatever tilt her emotions decide to take by showing her that she’s not the only one.

There’s the bright white backlight of the TV illuminating their little cave once they finally crawl inside, Jughead bringing an array of his snacks with them to fuel their evening. He disappears quickly to fetch his bedside lamp, the warm yellow of the bulb lighting the fort up with a cosy glow. Betty sighs as she leans back into the mound of pillows behind them, Jughead stretching out with his arms behind his head.

“Not bad, Jones,” she smiles, peeking at him from the corner of her eye. He’s a lot closer than she expected. He sends her a sly glance in return, his breath mixing with hers across the expanse between them.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Cooper.”

 

**Hour 21**

“Isn’t it still a little early for a Christmas movie?” Betty asks, quirking her eyebrow. Jughead sends her a dry look.

“Betts, we’re under a blanket fort that we built because we’ve been snowed in. If there was any time to watch a Christmas movie it’s now,” he says as if it’s obvious. Betty snatches the remote out of his hand.

“We are not watching _Die Hard_ ,” she says firmly, turning to scroll through the options on screen again. She dodges his hands as he flails for the device, holding him off with an elbow.

“But it’s a Christmas classic!” he complains.

“It’s over-watched! People wouldn’t put it on nearly as much if it weren’t set on Christmas Eve,” she deadpans, thinking about how her Dad had always insisted they watch it multiple times during the festive season.

“You could say that about any Christmas film,” Jughead defends. He’s smiling though, eyes unwavering as he looks at her for a moment.

“What?” she asks self-consciously, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Nothing. I just like it when you disagree with me,” he replies softly, smile turning into his classically handsome grin. Betty rolls her eyes, hoping her blush isn’t too noticeable as she turns her attention back to the screen.

He’s swiping at her hands again but instead falls ungracefully into her shoulder, hand landing squarely on her upper thigh to steady himself. Betty’s breath hitches as he sits back quickly, jerking away from her as if he’d been burned. Jughead suddenly doesn’t seem in the mood to put up a fight about film choice anymore. That is, until Betty makes her selection, settling down with a triumphant smile, trying to distract herself from the uneven thrumming in her chest.

“ _Home Alone_? Are you serious? After the crap you just gave me about _Die Hard_?” Jughead whines, throwing himself dramatically into the cloud of cushions.

“If anything is appropriate ‘fort viewing’ it’s this,” Betty tells him, leaving no room for argument as the open scene begins. “I think Macaulay Culkin was my first crush,” Betty muses as they watch.

“Child actors are so overrated,” Jughead mumbles as he sulks, folding his arms over his chest. Betty presses her lips together, trying to resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him to stop being such a grump. She sits up suddenly, eyes wide as she turns to Jughead.

“Wait!” Jughead bolts up, taking in the panic on her face.

“What? What is it?”

“We need to make cookies. I can’t watch this film without cookies,” Betty informs him seriously. Jughead lets out a huff.

“Well, if you’d told me that there’d be mandatory cookies involved I wouldn’t have put up such a fight,” Jughead says, amusement shining in his eyes. Betty is already scrambling towards the kitchen. Jughead walks up behind her slowly, watching as she pulls the box out she’d bought at the market the previous night.

“Hang on.” Betty pauses, eyes questioning. “These cookies… are they chocolate chip or are you gonna put fruit in them? Because you can’t pull that on a guy twice in one day,” Jughead says, lifting a shoulder. Betty holds up the box as evidence.

“All chocolate. Promise,” she grins. Jughead returns it with equal brightness.

 

**Hour 22**

Baking with Jughead was not an activity Betty was willing to repeat any time soon.

“Jughead, this is so simple, why are you having such trouble!” Betty found herself telling her temporary roommate yet again. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she chastised as more of the mix managed to fly from the bowl, making its way onto her face; which was already sporting the powdered remnants of cocoa and flour, she might add.

“I’m much better at eating them,” he laughs, earning a swat on his shoulder.

“Just give it here,” she sighs, taking the bowl from his willing hands as he leans against the fridge to watch her instead.

Back beneath the blankets, the aroma of warm cookies fills up the small space, and it is mouth-wateringly good.

“You’re right, this film is _so_ much better with cookies,” Jughead praises around a mouthful, and Betty giggles while taking small nibbles of her own.

She’s seen the movie so many times before, it being one of her favourites, that her attention drifts leisurely, filling with all the mundane questions she wants to ask the man beside her, wanting to find out more about him.

“What’s your favourite movie?” she asks, earning herself an incredulous look.

“Who has one favourite movie?” he asks, furrowing his brow. Betty glances down at her shirt, gesturing to the logo still displayed there, raising her brows as she meets his gaze again. His eyes linger a little longer than necessary on her chest and Betty feels an appreciative tingle work its way down her spine, all the way to her toes as his tongue comes out to wet his chapped lips.

“Err… fine,” he finally stutters. “But I don’t, there’s just too many good ones – one for every mood,” he says conclusively. There’s a pause.

“How about a favourite song?” she tries instead.

“You have _one_ favourite song, too?” he asks disbelievingly, propping himself up on an elbow, angling his body towards hers. Betty chuckles, biting her lip at the intense look on his face at her apparently unreasonable question.

“Okay, favourite genre of music?” She’s enjoying getting him worked up over the triviality of ‘favourites’. Jughead looks conflicted, knowing his answer won’t appease her.

“I like a bit of everything.”

“You’re not answering any of my questions!” she exclaims through a laugh, eyes glowing in the lamplight.

“It’s not my fault if you don’t like my answers,” he tells her with a smirk. “I’ll play you one of my playlists later, okay?” he offers in an attempt to satisfy her. Betty nods, looking forward to getting a look inside the mind of Jughead Jones. 

 

**Hour 24**

Jughead decided they needed a break from films before their next choice, the heavy air collecting beneath the blankets making them both sleepy.

“We could play Archie’s Xbox?” he suggests hesitantly, not sure if bringing up the previously unmentioned Archie again is a good idea. Betty only nods, unfazed by the idea. Jughead fires up the console, loading up _Rocket League_ on the screen. “It’s just like football but with cars,” Jughead tells her, handing her a controller.

“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it,” Betty laughs, crossing her legs and shifting in her seat as the match begins.

Jughead soon finds out that Betty has a mean competitive streak.

“Hey, what the hell?!” he shouts as she causes his front player to flip over and crash into the railings, bypassing the rest to hit the ball into his unguarded goal. She sends him an angelic look, like she didn’t just try and blow up half his team.

“I’m a fast learner,” she says with a shrug. Jughead narrows his eyes, prepared to play a little dirty to get her back for such a deception.

Betty is weaving around his defences, heading for another goal when she’s suddenly toppled off balance, a hand shoving at her upper arm.

“What, that’s so not allowed!” she cries as her stumble allows him to snake the ball out from under her. Jughead just smiles tongue coming out in concentration as he bounces the ball back up the field. Betty shoves him back with as much force as she can muster, satisfied when he has to let go of his controller to stop his face connecting with the floor.

“Ha!” she chirps triumphantly, preparing to go back to the game. Jughead has other ideas, though.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs menacingly, throwing his weight onto her side as he attempts to wrestle the controller out of her hands. They tousle briefly before Betty’s frame gives way beneath him, Jughead landing on top of her body with a huff. He catches himself on his elbows, pulling back to look at her face.

Her golden hair is splayed out on the duvet beneath her, glowing in the soft lamplight. He hadn’t noticed that her green eyes had flecks of gold in them too until he got this close, her pupils dilating slightly and swallowing the colour. Her breathing has shallowed out as he doesn’t move, and he can feel her heart hammering beneath his chest. Her every soft inch is pressed against his own and when he catches her eyes darting to his lips his can’t stop himself any longer.

He swoops down, catching her plush lips with his own, unable to hold back a low moan as she gasps into his mouth with the action. She tastes of strawberries and chocolate chip cookies, and he doesn’t realise how long he’s been wondering about this until he has his answer. Betty stills and he pulls back, looking at her with panic.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to…” Her hands on his cheeks halt his worrying.

“Shut up,” she whispers, pulling him down to her once more.


	8. Hour 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know it's alright but I still feel bad that I missed a day and I'm coming back with only a short chapter, but hey it's here! And there's not long to go now, thank you so much for your continued love for this fic <3

**Hour 25**

Betty was tired of doing things for other people. She’d had enough of striving to reach other people’s expectations, of feeling guilty when she failed. Beneath the cover of a pristinely made blanket fort she vowed to begin doing things for herself, in the way _she_ liked, to take what _she_ wanted.

Which is why, when Jughead pulls back with worry clouding his crisp, blue eyes, she takes his face in her hands and stops his rambling, bringing his mouth back to hers. His lips are slightly rough and chapped, but he tastes like dark chocolate and it stirs something deep in the pit of her stomach, igniting a hunger that can only be satiated by _more_. Her fingers move from his cheeks to slip into his hair, pushing the knit beanie off in their venture to reach more of the dark locks. Her nails scratch against his scalp and she smiles through the kiss at the groan she feels vibrating through his chest.

She laughs as her feet get tangled in the sheets below them, wanting to wrap her legs around his hips to pull him even closer. Her giggles turn to a gasp when Jughead shifts a hand to her thigh, gripping the soft flesh lightly as he helps hook it over his hipbone without breaking their kiss. He steals his moment, sweeping his tongue against her plump lower lip before slipping side, the muscle tangling expertly with her own.

Betty thinks she can feel every particle of air as it brushes her hypersensitive skin, every nerve on alert as it awaits Jughead’s caresses with eager anticipation. His hand begins to wander up her thigh, skittering up over her hip, fingers clutching at the small of her waist as he groans above her. His sounds of pleasure only fuel the flames licking their way through Betty’s veins, her heels tightening where they’re locked at the base of his spine, forcing him further still. He swallows her whine as their bodies connect, her every curve lining up perfectly with the flat planes of his torso. His hand climbs higher, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast.

Jughead pulls back, resting his forehead against hers as they try and control their breathing, heavy breaths the only sound beneath the sheets. Betty’s eyes flutter open after a while, looking up at Jughead’s face. A burst of warmth explodes in her chest at the sight of the small smile gracing his parted lips, corners tilted upwards shyly. She uses one of the hands in his hair to push back the curl forever dangling in front of his eyes. His eyelashes tremble before his eyes open, and the deep blue takes Betty’s breath away once more.

“Hey,” she whispers, biting her lip as she shifts slightly beneath him. Jughead’s wandering hand moves from her chest to run a thumb across the swollen flesh, releasing it from her teeth, eyes following the moment intensely. The soft pink matches the colour her cheeks flush, Jughead thinks as he watches it flood back in.

“Hi,” he replies, smile brightening a fraction. She twists the lock around her finger absently as neither attempts to move. Despite her racing heart, Betty thinks this is the most serene she’s felt in a long time.

“That was nice,” she mumbles, feeling the betraying heat of a blush spread across her cheeks at the admission. Jughead laughs, dipping his head briefly before meeting her eyes once more. “Unexpected, but nice.”

“I wasn’t planning on kissing you, I just…” he trails off, eyes flicking over her face, taking in every detail.

“I’m glad you did,” she reassures, pressing one last light kiss to his lips. He lingers slightly, reluctant to pull away.

“Of all the doors in the halls and you turn up at mine,” he jokes, raising an eyebrow. Betty lifts her chin, frame shaking as she lets loose a peal of laughter at his cheesy line.

“Technically I was trying to turn up at someone else’s door,” she points out before realising the effect her words might have. A hardness begins to freeze the liquid warmth in Jughead’s eyes and she quickly presses a kiss to his lips, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. “But I’m glad it was you that answered.” Her words suck the tension out of his body like the poison out of a bite, smile creeping back across his features like it never left.

 

**Hour 26**

Betty can’t believe it when Jughead complains of hunger some time later.

“But… you ate almost the entire batch of cookies!” He doesn’t try to hide his proud smirk.

“I’m a growing boy, Betts. Denying me of much needed nutrients could be seriously detrimental to my health.”

“You won’t be saying that when you start growing outwards instead of upwards,” she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear. She sees the dark glint in his eye moments before he’s moving, fingers outstretched and heading for her sides. She squeals gleefully, scrambling over pillows to get away from the impending attack. She runs towards the kitchen, spinning on her heel to face him in his approach towards her, adrenaline tingling beneath her skin as her backside hits the counter’s edge.

“Juggie… no, no… Juggie, don’t–!” she cries with a smile, eyeing him apprehensively. He boxes her in, hands either side of her body, head dipping closer to her lips and her breath catches.

It leaves her in a rush as he ducks at the last minute, fingers unrelenting as she squirms to get away from the tickling sensation.

“Ju– Jug… please,” Betty wheezes through her laughter. Jughead can’t get enough of the sound, of the way she’s practically glowing before him, relaxed, and carefree and simply _Betty._ His musings are cut short when she manages to sneak free of him, pressing a kiss to his lips that’s wet and messy – all tongue and spit and teeth – throwing him completely off balance as he clutches at her hips. Girls like Betty shouldn’t be capable of such dirty kisses, but then he’s learned that there aren’t any other girls quite like Betty.

“You cheated,” he accuses weakly when she lets his mouth go with an audible pop. She sends him a seductive look, contrasting with the innocence of her shrug.

“I wasn’t aware we were playing by the rules,” she says in a low voice, turning to get ingredients from the refrigerator. It takes Jughead another few minutes to connect his brain back to his body.

***

“Hey, why don’t you put on one of those playlists you promised me?” Betty asks sweetly while she’s chopping up vegetables for the stir fry she’s preparing. Jughead turns towards the dock in the corner, pressing shuffle on the first one he sees.

Melodic notes begin to fill the room and Betty pauses, turning to face him.

“What?” Jughead asks apprehensively.

“Nothing, I just… I don’t know, this just isn’t what I had in mind,” she tells him with a small smile. Jughead wanders back towards her, leaning casually against the counter as he watches her cook.

“I’m a man of mystery,” he quips, popping one of the chopped carrots into his mouth before she can swat his hands away. “Also it’s not all like this, I have very eclectic taste,” he informs her, wiping his palms down the front of his pants.

“I like it,” Betty says, swaying subconsciously to the soft tune pouring from the speakers.

 _If we want to_  
_We could do what kings do_  
 _I can feel the earth move_  
 _When you speak_  
 _If we fight through_  
 _All the things we once knew_  
 _Everything would change for me and you_  
 _We could what kings do_

Jughead catches Betty’s hand in his and pulls her into his embrace, moving gently to the beat. Betty giggles at his attempt at dancing.

“You’re not in time,” she laughs, content to fall further into the warmth of his chest.

“Conformity has never been my strong suit,” he replies as he holds their hands between their bodies. As he laces their fingers a sliver of white catches his eye.

“What are these?” he asks, voice tight as they both look at the tiny crescent shaped scars on Betty’s open palm, slightly bruised around the edges. She flushes, fighting the urge to clench her fists and hide the flawed parts of herself from him. She takes a deep breath, stretching her fingers deliberately flat.

_It’s gonna take some time_

“A release,” she tells him honestly. His brow furrows as the evidence of Betty’s hurt looks unwaveringly back at him. Betty thinks about the urge to let her fingers dig into her palms, about how noticeably dimmed it had been in the past few hours. “But I’m working on it,” she finishes with a reassuring smile. Jughead holds her wrist delicately, brushing his lips against the marks with a tenderness that makes Betty’s throat close and her eyes blur.

“Okay,” he says, voice full of trust.

***

They eat their food back beneath the sanctity of their fort, music still quietly playing, Jughead’s beanie placed firmly on top of Betty’s loose, blonde curls.  


	9. Hour 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished the next chapter and posting two in one day to get back on track will make me feel better about missing a day, so here you go my loves! <3

**Hour 32**

“What do you think the weekend would have been like if Archie had been here?” Betty cringes slightly as the question leaves her mouth but she can’t help but ask it. Her head is resting comfortably on Jughead’s shoulder, his arm around her waist while the pad of her finger traces idle patterns on his chest over the fabric of his shirt. The muted tones of Bruce Willis fill the air.

It wasn’t the mention of her best friend – no matter how tough she tried to be, Betty was a forgiving person by nature. No, what was bothering her is the guilt seeping through her body over the fact that she feels _grateful_ Archie hadn’t been around when she arrived. Betty turns her chin to rest on his chest, looking up at him with round, questioning eyes.

Betty had thought that college would be a fresh start, a place to try again where she was completely anonymous and without reputation. While that part had been right, she was also, it seemed, entirely invisible. With her preppy ponytails and pink sweaters she was the epitome of forgettable. Betty hadn’t just felt lonely, she’d been alone.

Jughead had made her feel like someone, worthy of conversation and reciprocation. From one of the crappiest moments of her newfound adulthood had come a weekend she knew she’d never forget. There was nothing grand or ostentatious about the time she’d spent with this boy, trapped together because of their mutual acquaintance and unfortunate weather, but that was the point. Betty felt comfortable in a way she had been lacking for far too long. They’d worn their pajamas and eaten junk food and watched too many movies. They’d talked about their favourite things and the worst parts of themselves, and Betty knew she’d shared more with Jughead than she ever expected to. And, right now, she felt as if she could keep going, keep telling him her every last secret and the creeping shame that usually accompanied such admissions would never come, only relief.

“What do you mean?” Jughead asks, twirling a lock of Betty’s hair through his fingers. She sighs, propping herself up with one hand on his chest, fingers still rubbing absentmindedly across the worn cotton.

“I mean, if Archie had been here we wouldn’t have done all this,” she begins, gesturing to the sheets above them. He’s watching her face with rapturous attention as she tries to find the words to express her worries. She can’t quite meet the intensity in his eyes. “I’ve never had a weekend like this… never felt so close to someone so quickly. It’s kind of scary but I can’t imagine what it would have been like if we hadn’t… I could have come here, said hi to you in the kitchen or on my way out of the bathroom and that could have been it. I would have gone back to college at the end of my stay exactly the same person I left as. And I don’t think I will anymore, because I _feel_ different in myself. Thanks to you,” she whispers her last confession, peeking up at him shyly. “I’m sorry, that’s a lot to put on someone right away.” Jughead lets out an unsteady breath, cupping the back of her head as he leans up for a gentle kiss.

“I don’t know what I did, other than treat you as a human being not a project, but I’m really glad, Betty. You deserve to feel good. But I know you would have gotten there in the end, even if we hadn’t had this weekend together – although I’m so happy we did. I know you can do it,” he replies with a smile. The overwhelming belief Jughead has in her floors her. She’s not quite sure she sees what he sees, but she’s going to give herself time to.

“I just feel guilty that…” she starts, biting her lip.

“You’re allowed to do things for you, Betts. For only you.” _Only her_. She knows he’s right, he’s been right this whole time. They’d talked some more about his dad, her mom, their families. He’d let go of other peoples’ expectations while she clung to them. She wanted everyone to like her while he pushed everyone away. Together, maybe they could find a balance.

So, for her, she brings Jughead’s lips back to hers, pouring every ounce of gratitude into her kiss. She rocks back, pulling his body on top of hers as they make out languidly, with no rush or restraint. She licks her way into his mouth, tasting every corner of him she can reach, fingers tugging at the short hairs at the base of his neck, eliciting deep moans that make her shiver. She paws impatiently at his shirt, lifting it over his head to reveal the chest she’s had imprinted into her mind since her arrival. His hand makes the journey back up her side, this time slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt after she nods quickly at his questioning look.

His fingers run over the smooth expanse of skin revealed to him, raising goosebumps in their wake as they travel up the soft, warm plane. Jughead hesitates at the edge of her bra, pausing for permission. Betty bows her back, arching into his touch as a needy whine escapes her. His hand dips beneath the fabric, squeezing her breast gently at first, then harder, running his thumb over the hardened peak when she lets out a sinful whine right next to his ear that has his hips bucking involuntarily.

His lips trail red hot kisses along her jaw, down the elegant slope of her neck as her breath becomes increasingly uneven. He finds the thrumming of her pulse under the delicate skin and sucks, working until there’s a beautiful purple bruise blossoming beneath his mouth.

“Juggie,” she whines, hands clutching at his biceps in desperation. “Please.” Betty wasn’t completely new at making out, she’d had her fair few experiences with high school boys, but this desire that was rolling over her body in all-consuming waves was something she’d never known before. She didn’t know what to do with herself as Jughead’s touch felt like too much and not enough all at once. He leans back to look at her, pupils blown wide with lust, a dark reflection of her own.

“What, Betts? Tell me,” he murmurs, rough voice sending a tingle down her spine, warmth pooling between her thighs and tightening the coil in her stomach. Betty tugs on the hand beneath her shirt, guiding it down until it rests on the elastic of her waistband. She bites her lip, watching him with nervousness in her eyes, but a firm set in her jaw, as she lets him take the next step.

“Are you sure?” he asks, letting the elastic snap back against her hipbone lightly, relishing in the hitch in her breath. She nods as her hips lift subconsciously.

“Yes,” she breathes, eyes fluttering closed as his hand dips below the fabric.

His forehead drops to her collarbone with a thud when he feels her arousal against his fingertips. She’s so warm and sweet, and Jughead feels as if he could get lost in her for days. Watching her writhe and whimper beneath his ministrations, hearing her high pitched sigh when he finally moves his fingers to where she craves his touch most, he couldn’t have imagined his weekend would have gone this way; but he’ll be damned if he questions whatever fates aligned to bring him here, looking at the vision before him.

His thumb comes up to rub where she’s most sensitive and he can feel all the signs of her release building. Her chest is heaving, thighs quivering, and her teeth are ravishing her lower lip as she bites back moans of pleasure. He captures her lips, swallowing down the sounds as stars burst behind her eyes.

Jughead watches as she comes down from her high, brushing away stray hairs that are sticking to her forehead and stroking over her rosy complexion with exploratory fingers. Her eyes open slowly, blinking sleepily up at him with a blissed out smile.

“You look smug,” she comments, voice airy. He glances to the side as he pretends to contemplate her words.

“I feel it,” he replies, smirk staying firmly in place as she makes a half-hearted attempt to punch his shoulder. Her eyes flick lower, hands reaching for his waistband.

“Here, let me…” Jughead halts her movements, pressing his lips to her fingertips.

“Later,” he whispers against her skin, moving off her body and pulling her lax frame into his side. She shuffles closer, tangling her legs with his. The air is a little too hot beneath their makeshift tent to be comfortable, but neither of them lets go.

 

**Hour 40**

Bettys wakes up long before Jughead, slipping out of his embrace only to use the bathroom before she’s crawling back beneath the blankets. Time seems to have stopped for them these past few days, she thinks with a heavy heart as she contemplates the lonely drive home later that day.

She amuses herself instead by finding constellations in the moles and freckles that cover his skin, memorising every one.

“Only psychopaths stare at people while they sleep,” Jughead mumbles through barely moving lips. Betty giggles, ducking forwards to plant a kiss behind his ear. He hums in contentment, fingers tightening around her waist as he finally opens his eyes to the new day. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” she replies, curling closer. Her lips find his, their lazy movements reflecting the mood. Her hand runs down the ridges of his exposed abdomen, causing Jughead to shudder in anticipation as she lightly brushes the bulge in his pants. “It could be a very good morning,” she murmurs teasingly, pressing harder as Jughead groans.

The pop of their bubble is audible, and it comes in the form of a slamming front door.

“Hello? Betty?” an all too familiar voice calls out as Jughead’s eyes snap open, Betty bolting upright. She scrambles to get out of the tangle of sheets, giving Jughead a moment to collect himself.

“A-Archie, you’re back,” Betty stutters as she runs nervous hands over the front of her shirt, tucking loose hair behind her ears.

“Betty, I am _so_ sorry. You have to believe me, I would never– what’s all this?” Archie breaks off as he looks behind her in bemusement. Betty glances over her shoulder as if she doesn’t know that the mess of sheets and rearranged furniture is still behind her.

“Um…” she begins, not sure how she should explain. She’s saved the task by Jughead emerging from the fort. He’s put his shirt back on.

“Hey, man,” Jughead says, not quite meeting Archie’s eyes. “Good trip?”

Archie is silent as his eyes flit suspiciously between the two, taking in their sleep rumpled appearance and guilty expressions. His brows furrow as no explanation is offered.

“What happened here this weekend?”


	10. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had time recently to go through and reply to your comments like I usually would, but I just wanted to say thank you so, so much for all your support and love for this fic, it completely stuns me and I'm so happy you liked it. You're all incredible <3

**After**

All of Betty’s instincts had screamed out at her to lie to Archie, to tell him that their weekend had been inconsequential, that they’d just found mundane ways to pass the time while they waited for the all clear. The subtle pressure of Jughead’s reassuring hand against her lower back melts the tension in her frame, however.

“Well, since you weren’t here,” Betty starts, wincing as she says the words but a part of her hopes the reminder of his absence will work in her favour. Archie’s grimace deepens. “Jughead and I got to know each other a lot, and…” Betty takes a step closer to Jughead’s side to indicate the meaning of her unfinished sentence. In reality, she hadn’t quite known how to finish anyway. Everything was still so very new, still blossoming into whatever they would let it become. Getting closer to Jughead physically was a pretty good description of what had happened metaphorically, without the use of floundering words.

Shock had painted Archie’s features as he couldn’t decide who to rest his gaze on first.

“You… and Jughead?” he asks eventually, creases in his brow still not flattening out. Betty nods apprehensively. This ‘doing things for her’ is going to take some major getting used to. “But you barely know each other?” Jughead’s subtle snort alerts Betty to the fact that he clearly thinks Archie’s being a little hypocritical. She jabs an elbow softly into his ribs.

“A weekend stuck together in an apartment changes that kind of thing, Arch,” Betty explains with a shrug, leaning into Jughead’s embrace, his hand having moved up from her back to her shoulder, squeezing once.

Archie still looks disgruntled, especially by Betty’s unbending argument, and it’s starting to make her bristle, any anger she’d had towards her best friend resurfacing as an edge of betrayal permeates his expression. _He doesn’t get to do this, he doesn’t get to dictate–_

“I guess,” Archie says with a sigh, shoulders deflating. Betty lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Even Jughead’s grip loosens slightly at his words. “Yeah, that’s pretty cool,” he tries again, and they all note the tightness of his accompanying smile, but neither comment, leaving any attempts to remove it to time.

“Good,” Betty says, taking a step towards him. “ _And_ even though you’ve got a lot of making up to do,” she teases, enjoying the way Archie’s cheeks flush to match his hair as a sheepish grin slips onto his face, “I still missed you,” she finishes, wrapping him up in a hug. Even if she wasn’t Betty Cooper, the results of Archie’s mistake were too good for her to stay mad at him.

“Me too, Betty,” Archie says into her hair, holding her tightly. “Hey,” he starts, pulling back. “It’s clearing up out there; you can get down the sidewalks now. You wanna do something before you have to go? You and me, like old times,” he asks, eyes shining with hope. Betty glances over her shoulder, noticing for the first time that Jughead isn’t paying attention to them, slowly deconstructing their fort, eyes averted.

“Why don’t the three of us do something?” she suggests brightly, instead. She’s hoping that Jughead doesn’t suddenly feel like he’s no longer wanted, now the original has come home. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss what happens next before Archie had walked through the door. Betty thought that Jughead seemed to be on her wavelength, that he wanted what she did – she wasn’t ready to let go of the wonder that was Jughead Jones, not even with three hours between them.

“Y-yeah,” Archie stammers, quickly catching himself. “What do you say, Jug?” Jughead stops, suddenly turning at the mention of his name as if he hasn’t been listening the whole time.

“What? Oh, no. You guys should catch up, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says, pressing his lips together. Betty hurries to correct him.

“It wouldn’t be an intrusion…”

“That’s cool, man. We’ll catch up later, yeah?” Archie says at the same time, voice a tad louder than hers. Betty goes to protest but Jughead is already shooting her a small smile and disappearing into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. She just hopes it’s not been shut on _her_.

***

Betty’s packing up her belongings a few hours later, a heavy feeling settled firmly in her stomach. She’d been out with Archie for most of the afternoon, but when they’d arrived home Jughead’s door had still been shut. Archie had told her about these tacos that she just _had_ to try before she left, but she simply told him she wasn’t hungry. A tickling discomfort crawls down her spine at the thought that this is it, that maybe she’d read more into this weekend than he had.

 _No,_ she tells herself, _he’d stood by her when she’d told Archie. There must be something, there must…_

She hears hushed voices from the living room and her heart jumps into her throat. She chucks the last of her stuff into her suitcases and heaves it out of Archie’s room. Archie and Jughead are standing in the kitchenette, heads close together as they speak in low tones. Betty tries to keep her approach quiet but Archie spots her and straightens quickly, heading her way.

“Everything alright?” she asks, knowing already that the reply will be vague.

“Yep, fine,” Archie chimes, grabbing for her case. “I’ll…” he starts, glancing between the two of them. “I’ll take this down to your car,” he finishes, ducking out of the room.

A silence fills the air, and Betty can’t help but feel that it’s too tense, to foreign after the emotions shared this weekend.

“Have a safe trip home,” Jughead says eventually and Betty can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously?” she replies, voice rising a little. Jughead blanches. “Anything else?” she asks, quieter this time, chewing the corner of her lower lip. He looks conflicted, battling with something internally for a moment before he sighs, eyes closing for a second before meeting hers, their colour dark.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he tells her in almost a whisper. Betty’s chest tightens at the admission, moving towards him to wrap her arms around his neck, his settling comfortably above her hips.

“I’ll miss you,” she tells him firmly, leaving a delicate kiss against his lips that burns even after she’s pulled away. His eyes are searching hers, looking for confirmation of his feelings. “But, you know, they have these great inventions called ‘phones’ now, and this even better one called ‘the internet’…” she tells him with a cheeky grin, giggling as he rolls his eyes at her, poking at her sides. Her laugh is cut off with yet another kiss, this one harder, more sure.

“So I’ll hear from you?” he asks, making sure. Betty smiles, butterflies erupting in her stomach.

“You can bet on it.” Jughead grins, holding her tighter against him, fingers tugging the end of her ponytail.

“Here,” he says as they walk towards the door, handing her some folded paper. Betty takes it with an inquisitive look, raising her eyebrow in question. “Don’t… don’t look until you’re home, okay?” he asks, an interesting shyness in his tone. Betty nods, blinking back the water in her eyes as he kisses her for the last time in who knows how many days.

She hopes it’s not that many. So does he.

***

Betty greets her roommate briefly before flopping down on her bed with an exhausted sigh, the drive having taken a lot out of her. She’s not ready for sleep yet, fingers itching to open the paper Jughead had given her a few hours earlier.

Her breath catches in her throat as she looks at the picture waiting for her. He’d told her he used to draw comics; he never said he still did. The black and white drawing features a girl with a ponytail and a boy with a crown beanie, sitting beneath tented sheets, the glow of a TV screen surrounding them.

 _“I wasn’t planning on kissing you.”_ his speech bubble says.

 _“I’m glad you did.”_ hers replies.

A grin splits Betty’s face as she goes over to her desk, pinning the drawing up amongst memos and reminders, right in the centre. She pulls her phone out, searching for the most recent contact and immediately hitting dial.

“Betts?” his voice rings out over the line, and she feels a warmth in her chest, taking away the icy chill of her drive.

“Thank you,” is all she says.

***

The weeks of classes in the run up to Winter break had taken their toll on everyone, including Betty. She was tired, run down, and mainlining way too much caffeine. She couldn’t wait for the end, and even though it was in sight it just felt like it was getting further and further with each passing second.

Today, however, all those feelings were on hold. Betty bounces on her heels as each tick of the clock rings out loudly in her ears. Finally, there is a knock. She skips to the door, taking a breath before opening it wide.

All the phone calls and texts and skype sessions hadn’t nearly been enough, she realises, as she takes in the sight of Jughead, leaning casually against the doorframe, hair damp from the snow and falling into his eyes, crooked grin on his lips.

“I’m looking for Betty Cooper,” he says, repeating her words from their first introduction. Betty’s expression mirrors his as she pulls him towards her, breathing him in.

“You’ve come to the right place.”


End file.
